The ABC Conversation

I was going to do a Wordless Wednesday this morning because I’m a little preoccupied by the fact that I was within inches of having a Jeep Wrangler delicately plant itself on my lap on this gloriously sloppy Michigan morning. (My heart is still in my throat.) But then I looked back at the last two posts and I chided myself for being so neglectful of my third fourth sixth child. Stuff’s been going on at the Bean household and I just can’t catch my breath or think of anything witty or life-changing. There are things like snowmen to be made, for goodness sakes!

The Pie is still frustrated and angry and I’m still trying to figure a way to channel her energy. Can a two year old have angst? I think a lot of twin moms do this: we observe one child’s behavior and determine that because it is different than the other child’s behavior, that something is wrong. I catch myself sometimes, when I dwell too much on Maggie’s state of mind, and I remind myself that, despite the fact that they shared my womb for eight months, they are different people. So far, we’ve glided through the terrible twos, with just a handful of tantrums, courtesy of Miss Pie, so I think that for the most part, she’s just fine. She just requires a different approach than A does and I’m still learning what that approach is.

And speaking of Peanut, I don’t believe she’s grown one inch or gained a pound since her check-up at two years. At that time, she was below the third percentile for weight and at the fifth percentile for height. When scouring the Internet, I’m met with contradictory suggestions on how to deal with this: give the child whole milk for added calories; don’t give the child liquids because that replaces solid foods; give the child high calorie foods, such as ice cream in place of yogurt; don’t draw attention to it. As Maggie has been growing, the difference in size has become much more noticeable to everyone. If I didn’t dress them alike or in coordinating outfits, people would assume that Mags is at least a year older than her sister. A is still in eighteen month old clothes and she feels to fragile and tiny when I hold her, that it seems like we baby her a little more to compensate for her frailty. It doesn’t help that her asthma medication causes loss of appetite and that she can’t partake in two weight gaining staples: peanut butter and eggs.

Despite my worries, they are thriving, bright, happy children. Last night, while I was sitting with them at dinner, the Beans began a conversation in which I was clearly the third wheel. It started with a comment about water (from what I gather) by Maggie. Audrey responded with a giggle and that set them both off. It was like watching a tennis match. My head turned from one Bean to another, listening to their lively discussion in a language that I think was mostly English, but which was peppered with a secret talk that only the two of them could understand. I smiled and once even attempted to jump in, but I was easily ignored as Maggie’s most recent statement sent them both into a fit of giggles. I almost felt lonely sitting there, invisible and uninvited, but I was too busy feeling so thankful and happy that they had such friendship between the two of them that I wished the dialog would have gone on just a little bit longer. But, finally, the giggles subsided and Audrey turned to look at me, as if she only just noticed that I had been sitting there the whole time.

“Momma, what you doing?”

Cherishing, my Little Bean, that’s what.